


Pressure and Release

by luthorslena



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Compulsive Self-Injury, F/F, nervous habit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 00:53:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18042338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luthorslena/pseuds/luthorslena
Summary: Even highly intelligent hackers get frustrated when things don't work out the way they should; thankfully, the one in this story has a sociopathic assassin as girlfriend who takes care of her when she feels bad.





	Pressure and Release

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bruisespristine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisespristine/gifts).



> first of all, thank you so so so SO MUCH to my beta, ThisPolarNoise! <3 you are so kind and encourage me to write more ^^
> 
> also, crash, if you do end up reading this someday, i know it can't even remotely be compared to what and how you write, but i just wanted you to have it :-)

/error

 

Root groans and shuts the laptop frustratedly. She’s been trying to figure out where she’d gone wrong with this code for the past hour and a half. She’s checked the core code several times, gone through each and every line, every command, trying to analyze it step by step in order to figure out where her fault lies, but she’s already tried to correct every possible mistake so now she doesn’t know where to look at or what to search for anymore. The whole damn thing is probably ruined and too patchy now anyway, she’ll have to start from scratch next time.

 

She glances at the clock on the shelf next to her. 4:11am. There’s no use in going to sleep now, she’d have to wake up in a few hours anyway. The ceiling is too tall and the silence is unbearable; she can’t give up now.

 

Sighing, Root opens the laptop and works herself through the core code again.

 

* * *

 

 

The sight that welcomes Shaw when she enters the apartment is not an unfamiliar one; Root sitting on the couch, laptop on her legs and head in her palm, with bear snoring on the cushion beside her. Root’s eyebags illuminated by the sharp contrast of the device’s light and the darkness of the living room. Root looking all lost and Eeyore-y, almost as if she's about to cry, and nothing like the perky psycho Shaw is used to.

 

Root doing… that thing.

 

“Hey sweetie,” she says, sounding like she’s in a trance. “Didn’t see you there.”

 

Shaw wonders how long she’s been standing in the doorframe, staring at her; it usually takes Root quite some time to notice her, on nights like this. Shaw blames it on the lack of sleep, the recent blood loss, the absence of her evening run.

 

“Hey.” Her mouth feels dull.

 

When Root puts her hand in front of her mouth, yawning, the scratched and scarred skin on her knuckles is clearly visible.

 

Shaw holds up a finger to signal “hold on” or “just a second” and disappears into the bedroom. But Root has zoned out too soon to notice.

 

* * *

 

After having worked herself through old socks, reserves of bullets and Root’s stupid romance novels - since when is the closet so huge? - Shaw finally finds what she had been searching for. A skin moisturizer that was made over a decade ago, stored in a plastic marmalade jar - everything is reusable -, stored in a kids’ shoe box along with a bunch of other stuff, stored in the very closet Shaw is sitting in front of. Her mom gave it to her as a gift for her departure to another mission, back when she was working with the Marines. Can’t have crusty hands while shooting the enemy. 

 

Shaw takes the jar and puts the box back. She heads back to the living room, where she finds Root sitting in the same position that can’t possibly be healthy for her spine she was sitting in five minutes ago.

 

Shaw sighs, stepping out of her boots as she walks towards Root, and crawls onto the couch to sit beside her.

 

It sinks slightly under her weight but Root’s red eyes - if because of fatigue or crying, Shaw doesn’t know - are glued to the screen, sharp nails marking her knuckles compulsively.

 

Shaw doesn’t tell her off or stop her, or take the laptop away from her - she learned her lesson the first and only time she did that. Let’s just say that now she can personally testify just  _ how _ sharp Root’s nails are. I nstead, she puts an arm around her shoulder, waiting for Root to process.

 

There’s a quiet “oh”, an even quieter “Sameen” and a short sequence of characters on the keyboard. Root puts the laptop away. Her fingers are still settled on top of her knuckles, but the scratching has stopped.

 

She leans into Shaw’s touch happily.

 

“Physical affection increases serotonin levels. So before you say anything; shut up. Nerd.”

 

Root just hums in response, too tired to make a flirty remark about  _ another kind of physical affection. _

 

After a couple minutes, Shaw takes back her arm and starts unscrewing a jar Root hadn’t noticed she’d been holding, revealing an oily, bright orange paste inside. She takes Root’s hand and starts applying the paste onto her knuckles.

 

“What…?”, Root’s gaze flickers between Shaw’s face and the orange cream being smeared onto her hand unceremoniously.

 

“Moisturizer,” Shaw explains. “My mom made it,” 

 

“Why is it so... orange?”

 

“That’s the turmeric. Was like a running gag in my family.” Shaw smiles at the fond memory. “Maman used to throw it into everything. Food, face masks, toothpaste, moisturizer. You name it.”

 

“Seems like a crafty kind of gal,” Root remarks, now smiling too.

 

“She was. Gotta be creative, living in a ghetto in Iran.”

 

Root wonders why Shaw always alternates between speaking of her mom in present tense and in past tense, on the rare occasions she does. She makes a mental note to ask her, maybe, someday.

 

“It burns,” she complains instead, knowing it will get a reaction out of Shaw.

 

“That’s what you get for scratching your damn knuckles til they’re bloody," she answers, staring at the steady motions of her own fingers.

 

“Hey, it’s an anxiety thing.” Root ducks her head apologetically; it’s a comical-looking move, but Shaw knows she’s searching for words. “Sometimes I just… I don’t know how to go on with a code, or how to upgrade it, or how to fix an error, and then I... I don’t know what to do with  _ myself.” _

 

Shaw just nods in response and continues rubbing circles into Root’s knuckles, knowing she’ll go on without Shaw having to dig.

 

“And then I’m just sitting there, staring at the screen, just, completely… lost. And I feel so incapable, I mean I’m Her analogue interface, so I should be able to…” Her voice breaks and she stops mid-sentence, trying to pull herself together. Sadness, tears, crying, are things that make Shaw uncomfortable, and Root doesn’t want to make Shaw uncomfortable. Doesn’t want Shaw to be uncomfortable.

 

Shaw understands. She wishes she could be there for Root - even though the latter has said multiple times that she wouldn’t want it any other way - but knows it would just cause awkward conversations and long hugs through gritted teeth.

 

So she stays silent, knowing Root will go on, and massages the paste onto her knuckles.

 

“I feel like I should be able to fulfill her expectations without any struggles. That's what she chose me for, right?" Root shrugs and smiles sadly.

 

“Your working conditions are not ideal. Lack of sleep, dehydration, stress - probably physical pain, judging by the position I saw you sitting in earlier. Of course you’re not gonna reach your full potential. Trust me, your robot overlord understands.”

 

Root chuckles at the last part. “Thank you, Sameen. And sorry about… this,” she says, pointing her head to scarred knuckles covered in orange paste. “I know you hate when I do it.”

 

“Root. It’s okay.” Shaw replies sternly. “You just need something to keep your hands occupied when you’re thinking about the next step.”

 

A flirty smile creeps onto Root’s face. “Oh, I could think of some things to… keep my hands occupied.” Yep, the perky psycho is back, and obviously very content about her own joke.

 

Shaw rolls her eyes, but continues to massage the paste onto Root’s patchy skin.  Nerd.

 


End file.
